Let me be selfish
by storyfyingmaj
Summary: ONESHOT. Flack/Angell. The ones we love never truly leave us.


**[ONESHOT] "Let me be selfish."**

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The white square upon the door read, "Closed," and the neon lights in the windows advertising the different brands of beer and the billiards table the establishment hosted in the back had cooled, having been turned off a few hours earlier. The slapping sounds of the wet mop hitting against the floor tiles filled the empty pub. The wooden chairs leaned forward on their front legs, resting their backs against the round tables spread throughout the large room. Charlie grunted as he leaned over to pick up the metal bucket, sloshing the dirty, soapy waters within the dented tin. His worn knuckles turned white as he fixed his grip upon the wooden pole in his hand. It had been years since he had boxed but the rough sport had mangled his body quite well, fixing his body with many aches and pains as he grew older every year.

Charlie felt every bit the 55-year-old he was - or perhaps it was that he felt older most of the time. He woke up to aches in his bones, cricks in his neck, and shiverings in his knees. His sparse hair had turned gray the moment he had hit 30 - he had always joked that that was the reason why he had remained single over the years. It was a shame that he had - stayed single for so long that is - because he was quite lonely. Charlie had won the bar in a lucky poker game and actually took up the trade despite not knowing a single thing about business. Sure, it was partly because he had turned 38 with no job and no future - a washed up boxer with a bad leg; but it was also because he liked to be around people. It never got boring running a pub - it was always eventful and full of pretty girls and rambunctious boys, partying and drinking to their youth; old-timers with hundreds of stories to pass the time; and all of the friends he had made. Charlie was glad of that fool Mickey betting his building in that game - the pub had really turned Charlie's single, independent yet seemingly meaningless life around for the better. 17 successful years and he planned to go for another good 30 - if only his back would stop killing him so much...

Charlie glanced over at the bar as he straightened up, following the row of dim lights that shone down upon the overturned legs of the stools and looking at the one green vinyl seat that was still resting upon the ground. A man sat there, the back of his left hand pressing into his cheek as he rested his elbow upon the worn wood of the counter top. His free hand played with the bottle in front of him, swirling what was left, as he kept his eyes fixed upon the dark glass. Flack had been there since he had gotten off of his shift at five - it was now one. Charlie had seen him in all sorts of states but nothing compared to how the handsome detective had been these past two months. The old man was worried - Flack was a stellar drinker but Charlie knew that he had reached his limit a few hours back. The barkeeper had long since given up trying to make him go home, having been met with half-formed excuses and protestations over the course of the last eight hours. He shook his head, sadly smiling back at the flashes of a grin Flack offered each time that didn't quite reach those bright blue eyes. He knew there wasn't much he could do and just quietly set out a spare pillow and blanket in one of the booths.

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Flack gave a heavy sigh, sitting up as he reached into his vibrating pocket. Pulling out his phone, he glanced at the lit screen that read "Stella" for the third time. He stared at it, letting it ring out, until it went black again. He fumbled with the object for a few moments, working the battery out of the back, before tossing the pieces aside and sending them clattering across the counter surface. His head rang, the alcohol and the thoughts pounding within his skull and forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut.

He knew that he was being irrational - and a part of him felt childish, tossing back the drinks and ignoring the worried calls - but it had felt right to swallow that bitter liquid and to let himself be glum. After all, he was in mourning and it didn't seem so senseless to be senseless.

_Oblivion. I could settle for that. _

Stupidity provided some respite and considering that he had made it a week, he felt a bit deserving of this time to himself with his friend the bottle.

_I _did_ make it a week. At least I had the decency to keep up the act while at work - at least I _showed up _to work._

But a voice in his head bitterly voiced his sincere feelings, _What a sorry excuse for - _

He shoved that particular thought off its pedestal. _Whatever. _He was at a bar now. No one to judge him. No one to bother him. Just him and the bottle - that's what he wanted, wasn't it?

_Just leave me alone._

"I'm going up now, kid," Charlie called from the stairs, "I set out your favorite booth." He gave a playful point at the makeshift bed.

Flack looked up, forcing a small smile to his lips, "Thanks, Charlie."

The old man gave a hearty grin as he snapped a salute before heading up to his apartment. Flack sighed deeply as he turned back to the drink at hand - he saw the way Charlie looked at him. Sadness and pity. Considering the number of times he came here for a swim - considering the number of times Charlie was kind enough to close the pub early - he wasn't particularly surprised.

But when he was being irrational, other people's concern poked into a darker part of him like an irritating stick scratching up his side and that darker part felt irked by their good intentions.

The words slipped past his lips, a hoarse whisper, "Just leave me alone."

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A familiar female tone startled him, "Talking to yourself, again?"

He snapped up straight. His eyes widened, snapping around the darkened, empty pub, as he swung around in his stool.

"Over here, silly," she said with a light laugh.

He felt a tug on his left sleeve and he froze, _I'm losing my mind._

"What?" he could hear the pout in her tone as she gave his sleeve another tug, "Not going to look at me?"

_No. It can't be. _He wanted to turn his head desperately but he wasn't sure if he had the heart to. _How could...?_

"Fine," she sniffed, "I'll just leave then."

He heard the squeak of the wood and her heels hitting the floor as she lightly hopped off of the stool. He didn't even realize the speed with which he turned around to look at her.

Her lips curved upwards in a broad grin, "See? You _wanted _to see me."

The moment his eyes landed on her, his throat constricted and his lips parted but only gave way to cracking sighs, "Of course, I - you - what - no - "

This wasn't right.

There she was, sweeping her long brown hair back as she got back on top of the stool. Straightening up with a deep breath, she smoothed out the creases in her khaki jacket - _that _khaki jacket. He found himself staring at the crisp, white shirt she was wearing, searching for the dark red spot he saw wasn't there. She shoved her face into his mischievously, "My face is right here you know."

The moment their eyes met, he felt a hand squeezing his heart with an impossible force and he swallowed hard against a burning sob that threatened to burst forth from his throat. It was her. Her sharp, slim features framed by dark hair, her wide eyes with their curling lashes, her easy smile - _her smile_.

Her _smile._

It just about killed him.

He reached out, fingers hovering near her cheek, but he quickly retracted his hand - afraid to know.

"What are you afraid of?" she teased, her own fingers reaching out to flick him on the nose.

He drew back and her fingers met air. Her smile flickered for a moment, a flash of hurt piercing her eyes, but then she laughed, shrugging, "Quick reflexes, Detective Flack."

"What are you doing here?" he said abruptly.

He finally decided to speak coherently and the words he chose seemed so cold and empty. _Why am I such a..._

She looked away for a moment, a hand massaging the back of her neck. "Selfishness," she replied, raising her head again as she simply said, "Selfishness."

It seemed he had no more words in him because he couldn't think of anything to say back. Her gaze shifted from his face to the bottle waiting on the counter and she spared him from having to say anything.

She leaned forward, taking the bottle in hand and looking at it carefully. She paused a moment before she spoke again, her tone losing its brightness and cheer, "Don't do this." Her soft, brown eyes met his clear, blue ones and she smiled sadly as she reached out to caress his cheek lightly, "Let me be selfish and ask you to not do this."

He closed his eyes, shuddering slightly at the warmth emanating from her gentle touch.

_How can she be dead when I can still feel her?_

The still, cool air brushed across his skin as her hand slipped away and he forced open his eyes.

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_Just leave me alone._

Flack glanced at the seat that Jess had left, the green vinyl shining up at him in the dim light. He _was_ alone - he didn't need to ask for it.

A moment passed.

Then another.

And another.

When he finally looked away, his eyes turned to the glass bottle held tightly between his hands. One hand slipped off as he lifted up the object with a twist of his wrist to eye the murky liquid within.

_"Let me be selfish."_

_Let _me_ be selfish_, he gave a sullen sigh, raising the open neck to his mouth.

_"Don't do this."_

The dark glass burned into his lips and he hesitated.

_"Let me be selfish and ask you to not do this."_

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he exhaled - his breath whistling through the near empty bottle.

_"Let me be selfish and ask you to not do this."_

The next moment he opened his eyes and lowered his hand, his head drooping to look at the bottle in his hand.

Then he set it down.

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**N.B.** This oneshot was, in part, inspired by this picture: operationvenus(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/21082593709/oneshot-letmebe


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